30 Days on the DMZ
by Circlique
Summary: A series of drabbles following North Korea, South Korea, and America exploring their relationships with one another and events throughout their histories. For the 30 Days of Writing challenge on tumblr. Various combinations of America/South Korea, America/North Korea, and North Korea/South Korea.
1. Beginning

**1. Beginning**

It wasn't the first time he'd seen a white man.

Oh no, certainly not. They'd been coming here for many years with increasing frequency, usually passing through his land on the way to China—something about the riches of the Orient, as their reason. Though Yong Soo wouldn't hesitate to argue that his land's culture was the richest and most beautiful to be seen, he still couldn't help but be somewhat wary of the foreigners.

Perhaps even 'weary' would be a better word. For hadn't it been foreigners who had brought him to his current state? Many years of his land being bickered over by more powerful neighbors. A brutal takeover and years of occupation by one of his brothers. Or at least, that is what he had called him once.

But the foreigner in front of him just smiled brightly, his eyes shining behind his glasses. Maybe foreigners with that particular combination of blonde hair and blue eyes would not be as bad? This was all supposed to be a temporary arrangement after all, but Yong Soo couldn't shake the feeling that this would end up being another occupation so soon after he'd been freed from the last. He needed to stand up on his own two feet, find his twin and consult him on their next mode of action. But another light-haired, light-eyed stranger had taken him off instead. Why wasn't he being allowed to speak with North? Yong Soo looked up at the stranger in front of him almost accusingly.

But before he could ask, the foreigner addressed him in English. "Remind me of your name again."

"Yong Soo," the Korean answered after a moment of hesitation, his accent still thick from lack of practice in English. "Im Yong Soo."

"And you're the one, aren't you?"

"The one?"

"The _one_."

After a moment of confusion, it dawned on him what he was talking about. Though Yong Soo had seen American businessmen—and more recently, military men—visit his country on and off, he still had not had the chance to meet the American nation-spirit himself. "Oh. Yes then, that is me. But you should know, there are two of us."

"The other guy?"

"My twin. He is the North," Yong Soo peered at the American quizzically. "Where is he?"

Something like remorse crept on to the American's face. "Oh. He—he'll be getting his counsel from someone else for the moment."

"Can I see him?"

"Not yet."

Something cold and heavy settled itself down in Yong Soo's chest. As if sensing this, the American reached out to clap a friendly hand on his shoulder. "But hey! We're gonna be great pals, I know it! I know you've been through a lot though, so maybe I can treat you to something to eat first. Would you like that?"

The Korean seemed to relax a little. "That would be nice."

"Good!" America beamed. "There's nothing better than getting to know a guy over a nice hot meal. I can already tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Wait," the Korean said suddenly, just as America was turning to lead him off. "You never told me your name."

"Alfred," the American replied. "Alfred F. Jones."

Yong Soo frowned. What an odd, foreign name! "Al-peu-"

"But hey," the American interjected, apparently sympathetic to his efforts to pronounce that stubborn F. "Just call me Al."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This is meant to explore the very beginning of the relationship between Yong Soo and Alfred.

At the Potsdam Conference of 1946, the Allies decided to divide Korea (without consulting the Koreans) between North and South, with the North being managed by the Soviets and the South being managed by the Americans. Most Koreans weren't happy about this because they saw it as another occupation when they had just been freed of Japanese rule, so there were many revolts following this decision. This drabble is meant to show a bit of that in Yong Soo's initial attitude towards Alfred.

Also, Korean lacks an 'F' sound, which is why he has trouble saying Alfred's name at first.


	2. Accusation

**2. Accusation**

A loud thud rang through the room as his back was slammed into the wall.

"Don't you dare!" North growled, his fingers curling into the fabric of South's shirt as he pressed the other into the wall. "Don't you dare say it's my fault!"

"Then what do you want me to say?" South demanded, clutching at his brother's hands and trying to pry them off. "'Gee, I'm sorry I just minded my own business and got invaded by you! Please forgive me!'" His brows drew together and he glared at North with indignation.

But North just jerked him away from the wall, only to slam him up against it once more. The South Korean grunted as his shoulders ground in painfully.

"You know that's not how it happened!"

"Then how did it happen? Please! Enlighten me with your almighty commie wisdom!" South sneered, dark eyes boring into his brother's. "Why is it _my_ fault?"

"You know why!" North insisted, glaring at him dangerously. "You let a total stranger turn you against your own brother! You let an American aggressor poison you with his ideals and turn you into his puppet. Does kin mean nothing to you?"

Somehow, those words angered him more than anything else North had said to him thus far. A hand snaked up to North's collar and gripped in tightly. A twist of his body and a wrench on coarse fabric. The harsh thud of a body hitting something solid. Suddenly it was North's shoulders grinding into the wall.

"That's funny," South sneered. "If you remembered anything about your own kin, you'd know that family was very important to me."

"Then you have an odd way of showing it," North muttered, already trying to push South off of him. "If you cared that much, you'd do less to oppress me and more to reconcile."

And somehow, that was the most amusing thing of all.

"If you think my ways of showing I care are odd, then you should really see yours. They are truly remarkable."


	3. Restless

**3. Restless**

The drops continued to patter against the windowpane.

The day had begun shrouded in mist, the clouds rolling down the mountainsides like waves on water. The air was cool and moist and carried with it the scent of fresh pine and mountain snow. By noon, rain had cleansed the land and continued to fall even now. The steady drumming of rain on the roof was calming, in a way. He would have enjoyed it, honestly.

If not for his present company.

"Hey North, don't you have anything on your TV besides this commie crap?" the American asked, trying to figure out why the TV wouldn't change from the state-run channel.

"No," the Korean responded bluntly, gazing longingly out the window. He wanted to get out of the house. It was boring here and there were plenty of things he could be out doing. Things that would show off the greatness and majesty of his country to the American and perhaps even bring him out of his comfort zone. "Come on. Let's go out."

If he could succeed in bringing him out of the house first.

"No way! It's cold and gross outside," the American complained, stretching out on the couch and looking back at North lazily.

"Don't be a baby," North grumbled, rolling his eyes. "It's not even that cold."

"Yes it is!" America insisted, looking again at the TV in dismay. "Hey, I know Yong Soo sends you DVDs and stuff. We could watch a movie! Don't you have a DVD player somewhere?"

"We are not watching any movies," North persisted, rising from the chair near the window and going to hover over the American impatiently. "You came here to learn about my country and I'm trying to teach you about it! Let me—"

"I think I know everything I need to know," America yawned, looking back at the Korean with disinterest. "You have a lousy leader and even lousier TV."

And with this, North's urge to get out of the house grew into an absolute necessity. If the American's whining didn't drive him crazy, then his stupidity would. If it were possible for him to leave and take a walk in the rain on his own, he would do so. Maybe it could wash away his troubles and put his mind at ease about the touchy subjects he and the American had discussed earlier that day. All the things about politics and aid and weapons that in all honesty he was terrified to use. But he was not to let the American out of his sight, and so his hopes for a peaceful walk were washed away with the rain.

"Come on," he repeated, snagging a part of the American's shirt and tugging on it. "Stop being stubborn."

"No!" America whined, staying limp and unmoving on the couch, even after the Korean's prodding. "Man, you're so uptight. You're not supposed to do things when it's raining! This is napping weather."

Clearly nothing he said was going to get through to him. With a grunt of frustration, he released the American's shirt and paced back to his seat by the window. Even if he did succeed in getting the American out of the house, it was apparent that he would only be doing the equivalent of dragging a whining child around in the rain.

With no better alternative, he simply settled himself back in his seat to watch it come down without him.


	4. Snowflake

**4. Snowflake **

If there was one thing Alfred was constantly conscious of, it was how fragile his relationship with North Korea was.

Not a day went by that he didn't fear that some delicate tie might snap. There was no telling how any word, any joke, any action might be interpreted by him. When something was going to offend him, or when it might fly right over his head. Too many times Alfred had tried to jest with him, only to realize North didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Cultural difference and years of isolation had left him in the dark on many things concerning the West.

But to Alfred, there seemed to be two North Koreas. One displaying all the doctrines and rhetoric of his government and leaders—who was paranoid and distrustful of America, and hated those nations whose values differed from his. But the other was just a kid with more arrogance than was good for him—who was insufferably stubborn and too proud to admit that he had problems just like everyone else and that he needed help. Who insisted that he needed no one but was, in truth, a little lonely. And this North Korea was better known as Sang Kyu.

Some days Alfred was more easily able to discern than others whether he was talking to North Korea or Sang Kyu, but the balance remained as delicate as ever. When he was with Sang Kyu he could joke and tease just to watch the other get flustered, but he was always alert for signs that he was pushing him too far.

It was a relationship as fragile as a snowflake, but perhaps as unique as one as well.

* * *

**AN: **

I've always believed that the nations have both a nation and a human side. They share the opinions of their governments and people but form their own as well. It's a pretty delicate balance.

My North Korea's human name is Im Sang Kyu. It's pronounced "sahng-kyoo" and means "aid and standard".


	5. Haze

**Warning! This chapter includes gore.**

**AN: **This takes place during the Korean War and explores my own headcanon on nation death and ressurection, particularly the way their bodies heal after a serious injury. I believe nations would be harder to kill than normal humans, but are able to die. However, as long as they have a nation to return to, their bodies will heal and revive.

* * *

Every step could be his last.

Or relative last, he supposed.

Nations couldn't really "die" per se. Not permanently. But that didn't mean they couldn't suffer the pain and terror of death. Any nation could die at any time—the only difference was that instead of an end to the pain with their death, they would be resurrected to live again and to experience death again at another time.

Of course, almost any quick death could be a blessing to a nation. It was when they were critically injured but not killed that things got messy.

Alfred had been sent to deliver a message to a group of South Korean's trying to hold their line deep in the mountains. It was a sort of message they couldn't risk getting intercepted by radio, so it had to be delivered in person. The area was crawling with armed North Koreans and South Koreans alike, their forms ducking behind trees and slipping through the forest like shadows under the cover of the early morning haze. Despite the risks, Alfred was more likely to emerge from the mission with a few bullet wounds and alive than the average soldier due to his added nation resilience. But it wasn't enemy soldiers he was worried about.

It was the land mines.

Every step sent his heart racing. The mountain fog had descended during the night and still lingered now in the early morning. It was hard to see more than a few steps ahead of him, making it extremely difficult to detect possible lurking North Koreans, though perhaps the fog was a good thing, as it made him more difficult to spot as well. Even then, any misstep could send him sky high, but perhaps not kill him.

Alone and afraid in the haze, a horrible, dark fantasy slithered into his head of how it might all pan out: A quiet click beneath his foot. An ear-splitting explosion and then agonizing pain when he realizes he's not dead. The sour stench of blood—his own blood, and the recognition that it's pouring out of the stumps where his legs once were—where jagged flesh and protruding bone now show. Instead of the blessing of being killed by such a blast, as a nation he would instead suffer the same pain for what would seem like an eternity as his body tries to bleed out and put him out of his own misery, only to fail. And then the agony of regeneration would begin as he lies only half alive on a forest floor red with his own blood. The gruesome sensation of stretching would begin as the exposed bone grows forward and blood vessels branch out to follow it, snaking down the shaft like vines up a tree trunk. Muscle tissue would crawl over the regrown bone and stitch together in a sort of gruesome patchwork, the agonizing pain returning as the nerves regrow only to feel like they're on fire. Skin boils up over new flesh even as muscle and bone continue to grow and spread underneath. After what seems like hours his feet will finally begin to regenerate, the delicate bones reforming and tendons and blood vessels twining over them before the skin finally boils up over them as well. And even then it will not be over as the circulation is finally restored, his legs feeling like they are being painfully overinflated even though the blood flow is, in fact, normal. And the pain will persist for a long while as he gets used to the brand new legs.

Of course, this was only a fantasy generated by a paranoid mind as he crept warily through the haze, alone with his thoughts as he advanced into the unknown. After a while he began to hear the distant rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns, but he could see no gunmen. Voices sound through the fog though he could not see their owners. Something crashed through the bushes off to his left though he couldn't see what it was or where it went. An explosion boomed behind him as some soldier ran over a landmine Alfred must have been fortunate enough to miss. His heart raced as the sounds of the battlefield filled his ears.

Suddenly a silhouette emerges in the mist in front of him, its features indistinguishable as it remains shrouded in fog. A Korean voice cuts through the air. «Drop your weapons, or I'll shoot!»

But even in Korean, it is a voice he recognizes.

"Shhh, calm down," Alfred replies in English, putting his hands up to signify that he's not a threat. "It's me, Yong Soo." And when he sees the silhouette lower its weapon, he creeps forward until he can make out the Korean's face.

Yong Soo gives a sigh of relief. "No trouble? See any North Koreans?"

"I can't see anything," Alfred laughs somewhat uneasily, but he claps a hand on the Korean's shoulder and turns to go with him back towards his base camp, eager to leave the dark images of his imagination behind him in the mist. "But no trouble. Nothing any scarier than my own paranoia."


	6. Flame

**6. Flame**

**August 22, 1910  
Seoul, Korea**

A single candle was all that illuminated the faces of the two brothers, its light casting dancing shadows on the walls around them.

Silence pervaded the room and went unbroken for a long while. There were not really any words to say. Just a deep sense of failure that each of them understood was being felt by the other as well.

For years, there had been troubles with Kiku-no, not even Kiku. Japan. That man didn't deserve the use of the name they used to call him. If he had once been something of a brother to them, he was no longer, and it was mutually understood between the two Koreans that he was no longer going to be treated as, referred to, or thought of as one. He had committed the deepest of sins by annexing their land to his empire-taken away their very identity as a nation to instead using them as a pair of pawns in his game of conquest. He had made them a colony. An inferior. This was an unforgivable betrayal.

South was the first to break their silence. "What are we going to do?"

"What we should have done a long time ago," North responded, staring into the dancing flame. What was going to become of them and their people? Japan had been amassing his armies and expanding his reaches for a long time. They'd been foolish to not act sooner. To think the shadow of the dragon could hide them forever. "Build up our military strength and go after him."

"You know it's not as easy as that!" the Southern brother objected, and North could see his hands clench his knees in frustration. "He's going to monitor everything we do. Any sign of a rising army and he'll crush it in a moment." His head fell forward to rest in his palms. "We wasted too much time. Dealing with Westerners and trying to please them."

"We can't simply...let him," North protested half-heartedly. But he knew South was right. They had spent too much time mimicking China and trying to please Westerners and not enough trying to establish a stable military and government. Not enough time trying to stand by themselves. Any effort for independence was going to have to be done on a massive scale, and the watchful eyes of Japanese agents might prevent that from happening.

Suddenly, North stood up and looked around, like the answer might somehow be floating around in the air just beyond his reach. "I'm not going to let him. I'm not going to sit here and sulk. And if you're at all inclined to help take back your country, you'll come with me."

South peered back at him in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I...I don't know," he shuffled uneasily in place, the need for action compelling him to move even though there was no where to go. "But I'm not going to sit here."

"Don't be hasty," South said quietly, reaching up to take North's wrist and pull him back down next to him. "We need to think. There's a way out of this. We just need to figure out what it is."

Unsatisfied, but having no better plan, North sank back down next to his brother, pressed into his side, and watched the flickering of the flame as the silence once again took over.

* * *

**AN:**

Korea was formally annexed by Japan on August 22, 1910, though it had technically been under "protectorate" status for five years prior.

"the shadow of the dragon' = China. Korea was highly influenced by China for a long time and retained that closeness for a while. The late 1800s was when Korea began trying to distance itself.

During the late 1800s and early 1900s, Korea was trying to westernize and modernize. However, reform progressed slowly and as a result Korea was sandwiched between Russia and Japan (who both had modernized militaries) as the Russo-Japanese War broke out.


	7. Formal

**7. Formal**

The finely pressed suits and carefully selected ties. The military uniforms with all the medals arranged just right. The way he brushed the hair out of his face. The way he spoke. The way he held himself. Overall, the North Korean was just a very formal sort of guy, America thought.

Almost too formal.

At least, compared to America, who leaned back in his seat during meetings and selected his clothes for the day the morning of. If he could, he would have tried to get the Korean to lighten up. Did he really do all those things by choice? What a drag that must be! Surely it was something his boss made him do. You know-to hold up the whole 'Best Korea' charade.

This thought crossed his mind one morning prior to one such meeting, where the Korean was sure to be in attendance and as well dressed as ever. He was not hard to track down, being one of the shorter attendees-standing only about 5'6", roughly the same as China. He was dressed as usual in a pressed suit and a red tie, his hair pulled back out of his face.

Of course, his hair was the first thing America decided to mess up.

"I think you look better with your hair down, you know?" the American said with a playful smile, pulling the tie from the Korean's hair before he could stop him and watching it fall down around his ears, the very longest locks just brushing his shoulders.

"Why?" the Korean grunted, reaching out to try and snatch the hair tie back from America. "I don't need you messing with me this early. Give that back."

"Nope!" America beamed, holding it just out of his reach. Oh, the advantage of being taller! "You look more like your brother like that. It makes you look more relaxed. Less...stiff."

"I don't desire to look like him at all," North huffed, settling back down and just glaring at the American. He must not have wanted to make a fool of himself in the middle of the hall.

America frowned slightly, his brows drawing together disappointedly. "Well, either way, you look more relaxed. Nicer even. More approachable."

"I am perfectly approachable."

America sighed. Of all the people he knew, North Korea was probably the least approachable, but there was no way he could tell him that right here in the middle of the hall. "Just keep it that way for a while, won't you? You look fine, I promise." He handed him back the hair tie, hoping maybe he'd take his advice. "Anyway, I'll see you inside."

"See you," the Korean replied curtly, then turned to wander off somewhere else for the remainder of the time until the meeting began.

About thirty minutes later, the attendees made their way into the meeting room to take their seats. America sat down on his side of the table and glanced briefly at one of the papers that had been placed on the table prior to his arrival, but kept an eye on the door.

Soon enough, North Korea walked in and took his seat near China. To America's delight, he'd left his hair down. China turned and whispered something to the Korean, but he was smiling, so it must have been something positive. North gave him a satisfied smile. Probably commenting on the new hairstyle! America waited until the Korean looked in his direction and gave him a knowing look, to which North just rolled his eyes.

But that was okay. Just the fact that he'd taken his advice for once was enough for him.


	8. Companion

**8. Companion**

He wasn't close enough.

Nothing could compare to the miles that had kept them separate for years. To the rise and fall of mountains and endless rice fields that spanned between them. Right now he couldn't have been more than three feet away, but the short distance separating North from South across the table was still too much.

His eyes fell on North's hands resting in front of him on the table, fingers interlocking. So close Yong Soo could have reach out and touched them if he wanted to.

And he _really _wanted to.

Many years ago, they had been inseparable. Constant companions. Always by the other's side. Where one went, the other followed. It was difficult to explain, but he _needed _North's presence. They filled each other up in a way that no one else could, like puzzle pieces falling in to form a complete picture. They could fill in each other's thoughts before they even knew what they were thinking themselves. They were the nearest thing to soul mates, one's presence completing the other's. Together, they were Korea. They had been through thick and thin. They'd cried in each other's arms—in anguish, when their people died at the hands of the Japanese—in happiness, when they were freed from Japan's oppressive rule.

But now his arms were empty. There were no more tears shed together. No more laughs shared. When he saw North's face, he would stare, fixated, at the other's dead eyes, hoping to see some sign of the brother he had once known there.

It was like he was missing a part of himself. There was only a gaping, empty feeling in his heart where North's presence should have been.

The noise of the meeting around him faded into blankness as he stared at North's hands. The way his fingers interlocked—the same way South's did in his lap under the table. The urge to reach out and take his hand—just to close the short distance separating them—was overwhelming. He couldn't focus. The meeting no longer mattered. Just the thought of how perfectly North's fingers would fit into his—like everything else. That was all that mattered.

* * *

**AN: **I'm extremely sorry for not updating this regularly. Obviously I did not manage to complete this within 30 days like I had originally intended. I'll still be updating, but since school has started for me, updates will be much slowly. I'm also putting this story/series on hiatus until I update _Healing Old Wounds_ again.


End file.
